by Karyn Bosnak
“Actually, I do. My father’s pretty similar. Or he used to be, anyway.”
“In what way?”
“He’s always thought I should pursue a more stable career. He’d do anything to get me interested in his business so I can take it over one day and have what he calls a ‘normal life.’ While I don’t mind helping him out occasionally to pick up extra cash and what not, I’ve made it very clear that it’s not what I want to do. Even if I spend the rest of my life struggling, getting bit parts here and there, I’ll never want what he has. This was hard for him to accept at first, but I’m my own person and he knows that.”
“I am too, but for some reason my mother doesn’t see that.”
“Well, you need to tell her then, like I told my father. You don’t have to be rude about it, but you gotta set her straight—otherwise, she’ll never stop being disappointed. When you finally do meet someone and decide to get married, she’ll find something wrong with the way you’re planning your wedding—I mean, look at Daisy. After that she’ll start in on your marriage, and after that she’ll find something wrong with the way you’re raising your kids. You gotta nip this thing in the bud now or it’ll never stop.”
I think about what Colin’s saying; he’s right. For as far back as I can remember, my mom’s always been this way—from high school, to college, to getting my first job—and I’ve never dealt with it. I bitch and bitch and bitch about my mother, but I never tell her how I feel.
“Listen, if you’re not ready to stand up for yourself, then at least throw your mom a bone for the moment, to keep your sanity.”
“Throw her a bone?” I’m confused.
“Yeah, tell her you’re dating someone or something so she’ll leave you alone.”
Although I laugh at Colin’s suggestion, it isn’t such a bad idea. My friend Julie has a pretend boyfriend named Gary, and her mother—“Smother”—thinks they’ve been dating for years. Every time she’s supposed to meet him, Julie tells her that something’s come up and Gary can’t make it.1
“I guess you’re right,” I tell Colin.
“Damn right, I’m right. Now tell your mother how you feel or throw her a feckin’ bone already so she’ll leave you alone!”
“Okay, okay,” I say, laughing. “I will.” I like Colin; he’s funny.
“Excellent,” he exclaims. He then turns on the charm. “Now c’mon, tell me . . . how’s it going with the chef?”
“You’re very persistent, you know that?”
“I have to be. I’m an actor. Now fess up. I already know he’s an old boyfriend; you might as well tell me how it went.”
“Okay fine,” I say, exhaling loudly. “If you wanna know the truth, he caught me spying on him and thinks I’m a total loser.” I hear Colin stifle a laugh. “It’s not funny!”
“Oh, c’mon . . . yes, it is. A little bit, at least.”
“You weren’t there.”
“No, I wasn’t. Which sucks, to be honest, because I would’ve paid to see it.”
“Yeah, yeah—whatever.”
“So . . . how about the jailbird? Who’s he?”
“That’s enough sharing for today,” I say quickly. Honestly, it’s too painful to think about poor Nate behind bars.
“A story for another time, I s’pose. Until then, be careful out there, will ya?”
“I will, and thanks for everything. You know, with my mom.”
“Ah . . . ’twas nothin’,” Colin says softly and sweetly.
After hanging up, I call Daisy when I’m safely on the highway and find out that everything Colin said was true. She and Edward are indeed moving their wedding up. The only reason they were waiting two years in the first place was because they wanted to have it at the Starlight Roof, a legendary art deco nightclub in the Waldorf that was all the rage in the thirties, and that’s how long the wait was—two years. Despite the short notice, my mom was fine with the date change and didn’t freak out until she found out Edward was Jewish.
“Mom, don’t worry,” Daisy said, trying to calm her down. “It’s not like I’m converting or anything.”
“What about your kids?” she asked. “How are you going to raise them?”
“They’ll be aware of both religions,” Daisy explained. “They’ll have a Christmas tree and a menorah. They’ll get the best of both worlds; it’ll be great.”
“It won’t be great, it’ll be confusing,” Mom argued, then sarcastically suggested to Daisy that she throw a Kwanza bush in the mix to really fuck them up.
“Every time I call her now she won’t stop crying,” Daisy explains to me. “Can you please call her and help smooth things over?”
“Absolutely,” I say.
After filling me in on the rush wedding plans, Daisy says that she and Edward have decided to not have a bridal party except for a maid of honor and a best man. After asking me to stand up for her (I of course say yes) Daisy tells me that she’s already ordered not only her dress but my dress too. I’m horrified.
“Wait, what? You ordered my dress? Why? I mean, I didn’t even try it on!”
“Oh relax. It’s a floor-length satin strapless gown and you’ll look gorgeous in it.”
“What color is it?”
“Scarlet.”
“Scarlet? You mean like red?”
“Yep.”
Oh, great. This is perfect, just perfect. While Daisy will be a vision of white virginal beauty on her wedding day, I’ll be the tramp in the red dress.
“Trust me, Del,” Daisy says, sensing my worry. “I work in retail. I know what I’m doing.”
“You sell wallets, not dresses,” I point out.
“Not yet I don’t,” she explains, “but I’m working my way up the Saks ladder and will soon. By the way, this is ultimately your own fault. I thought you were on a business trip and didn’t want the fact that I moved my wedding up to stress you out. Speaking of which, why did you lie about losing your job?”
“You saw how happy Mom was when I told her I didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did, but I’m not Mom. You could’ve at least told me.”
“Yes, you’re right, but it’s a two-way street. You could’ve told me about Edward, too. Wait—Why didn’t you tell me about Edward?”
“I don’t know,” Daisy says, sighing. “I guess I didn’t want Mom finding out about it from anyone other than me. You know how she is. When things turn out differently than how she expects, she doesn’t exactly take it well.”
I laugh. “You don’t say?”
“But you know,” Daisy continues, “call me crazy, but I think she’s getting better, which is why her being upset over this religion thing surprised me.”
“Better?” I don’t believe it. “How so?”
“Well, since the engagement party, for example, she keeps telling me that she can’t wait until February, black history month, because she went out and bought a book on Rosa Parks and is looking forward to wowing people with her knowledge.”
“She did?” I’m impressed.
“Yep. I think that once she gets over the initial shock of whatever it is that’s different—she’s gung-ho about it.”
Hmm. Good to know.
Before hanging up, Daisy tells me that the tasting at the Waldorf is set to take place in three weeks. She expects me to be there; I write down the date.
Later that afternoon when I’m sure my mom is home from yoga, I give her a call like Daisy asked. (I make sure to hit *67 to block my cell phone number before I do. I don’t care what Colin says; she doesn’t need to know I have a cell phone.) After a twenty-minute conversation I’m able to convince her that it’s not that big of a deal that Edward’s Jewish.
“Things could be much worse,” I say. “He could be a member of one of those freaky religions out in Utah that condone polygamy. I saw a special on TV about it once, and the men believe they need three wives in order to get into heaven.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she sighs, still sounding somewhat disappoint
ed. “I was just really looking forward to hearing someone sing ‘Ave Maria.’”
“Maybe someone still can,” I suggest.
My mom perks up. “Do you think?”
“Yeah, ask Daisy. A little ‘Ave Maria’ never hurt anyone.”
“You know, you’re absolutely right! A little ‘Ave Maria’ never did hurt anyone!”
“Great!” I exclaim proudly. I’m so happy to have helped! “Now go call Daisy!”
“I will, but before I go”—the tone of my mom’s voice changes—“Why didn’t you tell me that you lost your job?”
Damn! I was hoping to hang up before she brought this up. “Well, I was going to,” I say slowly. “But I’ve been so busy lately and—”
“I’ve heard!” she screeches, the tone of her voice changing yet again. “And he’s so cute!”
For the next few minutes I listen to my mom gush about Colin, except she calls him Cohlin, like Colin Powell. When she finally stops talking to take a breath, I break it to her that we’re not a couple. Although she sounds crushed at first, she tells me that she’s going to remain optimistic because . . .
“Not only is he single, charming, and sexy, but he lives right across the hall from you. It’s so perfect! I was just reading an article about how men and women in Manhattan tend to date people who live in a location that’s geographically desirable to them. For instance, if they live on the same subway line, then that’s good. They called it having a locationship instead of a relationship. Maybe you and Cohlin can have that.”
“Cahlin, Mom.”
“Oh right, sorry. Maybe you and Cohlin can have that.”
“Mom, I already told you—we’re just friends. Actually, we’re not even that—we’re acquaintances. We’re neighbors. We’ve met only twice. I barely know him.”
“Well, now’s the perfect time to change that since you don’t have a job to get in the way, right?” Before answering, I weigh my options.
If I tell my mom she’s right, then she’ll never leave me alone and she’ll drive me crazy calling for updates. However, if I tell her that I’m not interested in getting to know Colin better, then she’ll assume I’m a lesbian because how could any single woman not find him attractive?—he’s perfect. I suddenly remember his advice: throw her a bone.
“Actually, Mom, now’s not the perfect time because . . . because I’ve been dating someone else.”
“Dating someone?” My mother gasps with excitement. “You have?”
“Yes, and I don’t want to jinx it so I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Oh, I completely understand! But can you at least tell me his name? I’m just so excited!”
His name? Hmm. Oh heck, if Daisy can get a black Jewish guy . . .
“His name is Yoshi and he’s a Japanese Buddhist,” I proudly exclaim.
“Yoshi?” my mom booms. “A Buddhist? How exciting!”
“Yes, Mom. How exciting. Now no more questions.”
“I promise! Oh, wait—Can I tell the ladies in my yoga class though? They’ll be so impressed!”
“Sure, whatever.”
“Great! Oh dear, look at the time. I’ve gotta run. I’m meeting Sally Epstein out for an afternoon coffee. She’s gonna teach me some hebonics.”
“Hebonics?”
“Yes, I’m gonna learn a little Hebrew so I don’t embarrass myself when I meet Edward’s parents.”
“Hebrew? Wow. Well good luck.”
After hanging up, I giggle to myself and Eva. Yoshi, a Japanese Buddhist? Where the heck did that come from?
* * *
1 For example, the last time Gary was supposed to meet Smother, his private plane had mechanical problems and he got stuck in Miami. The time before that he was invited to attend J. Lo and Marc’s impromptu wedding and had to fly to LA for the weekend.
Chapter nine
#11 Foxy Blonde
Real name: Matt King.
A.k.a. “The Stoner Who
Couldn’t Keep a Boner.”
*Beep*
It’s Daisy. Thanks for telling Mom someone can sing the “Ave Maria” at the wedding, now Edward’s mom is insisting we do that whole Jewish breaking of the glass thing—whatever it’s called.
*Heavy Sigh*
I’m sorry, I’m not mad at you, it’s just that everyone’s driving me crazy. You have no idea how lucky you are to be single!
*Beep*
Del—it’s Michelle. I just got off the phone with Dustin Hoffman. You’re such an idiot! I told you not to go! Call me. Bye.
foxy blonde
I met #11 on my list, Matt King, also known as Foxy Blonde, the summer after I graduated from college, when I was living in Chicago. After two years of majoring in Liberal Arts (the “I have no idea what I want to do with my life” major) at Miami University, I realized I wanted to work in the design field. Even though it would have made more sense for me to attend a design school in New York, I transferred to the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Two years after doing so, I ended up graduating with a bachelor’s degree in Fiber and Material Studies. It might sound like a funny major, but knowing all about fibers and fabrics was extremely beneficial to my job at ESD.
The summer after I graduated, I worked as an intern in the marketing department of the Merchandise Mart, an enormous building that houses furniture showrooms for design professionals. Although I didn’t get any hands-on design experience there, I was able to see how the industry worked, as well as network at design events they held that professionals from all over the world came to attend. In fact, I met the woman who later helped me get my job at Elisabeth Sterling Design at one of these events.
Although I met Matt while working at the Mart, he didn’t exactly work in the building—he worked on the street in front of one of the entrances. He was a twenty-one-year-old construction worker. His dad made him get the job since he decided not to go to college. In the looks department, Matt was tall and lean with a surfer-boy look. Working all day in the sun dropped beautiful honey highlights in his dirty blonde hair and gave his skin a delicious golden glow. Oh, and his smile . . . Matt had a sexy smile that put Matthew McConaughey’s to shame.
I noticed Matt’s good looks right away, as did many of my female (and some male) coworkers. Since none of us knew his name, we referred to him as Foxy Blonde. Everyone was gaga over him; he was the talk of the office.
After admiring Foxy from afar for a couple of weeks, I decided to take action one hot summer day when I was feeling sexy. Not only was I dressed sparingly in a tight black tank top, an even tighter black miniskirt, and huge black platform sandals, I was also covered in glitter.1 (It was the summer of the Spice Girls and I had christened myself Glitter Spice.)2 There was no way he could deny me.
During an iced-coffee run to a White Hen Pantry across the street, I decided to get Foxy a bottle of water and some ice. After all, he was working hard to make the street in front of my workplace a more enjoyable throughway, it was the least I could do. After paying, I embraced my inner Spice Girl and approached him.
“Hi,” I said, nervously. Foxy stopped digging and looked up. A blue bandanna was tied around his head—I assume to keep the sweat out of his eyes, which were a beautiful icy blue. I had never been this close to him before and never realized how good looking he really was. “You look hot, you know, with the heat and all.” Unsure of what else I should say, I stopped talking.
“And?” Foxy asked, after a bit.
“And well,” I continued, “I thought you might need to cool down, so I bought these for you.” I held out the water and ice.
“For me?” Foxy asked, smiling. He took them from me. “Wow, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
After taking a swig of the water, Foxy took a piece of ice from the cup and ran it across his brow. As he did, it melted, sending little water droplets through the stubble on his face. Gosh, he was sexy! “I’m Matt King,” he said. “I’d shake your hand, but mine’s dirty and now wet too.”<
br />
Dirty and wet. How exciting!
“I’m Delilah Darling,” I said, extending my hand anyway. “And I don’t mind dirty and wet.”
Bad, Delilah! Bad, bad!
Smirking, Foxy took my hand and lightly shook it until I pulled away.3 “I have to get going,” I said. “But I’ll see ya around.”
“I’m sure you will, Delilah Darling,” Foxy said, smiling. “The girl who doesn’t mind dirty and wet.” Laughing, I turned and walked away.
As I headed toward the entrance of the building, I could feel Foxy’s eyes on me so I swung my hips something fierce. “Foxy’s gonna be my luvah!” I sang out to the tune of the Spice Girls’ “If you wanna be my lover!” Glitter Spice had arrived.
The very next day Foxy asked me out, and within a week, we were in the throes of a full-blown love affair. I was in love—in love! Connecticut didn’t breed guys like Foxy (at least New Canaan didn’t), and I had never met anyone like him before in my life. He was rough, rugged, and cool. Everyone wanted to be his friend.
I think part of the reason I was so head-over-heels for Foxy had to do with my age. I was twenty-one years old and had just graduated from college when I met him—the world was at my fingertips. I was hungry for life, for experiences. An optimistic “I can do anything” feeling was running through my mind and gave me confidence, a confidence which translated in the bedroom. Even though Foxy was #11 on my list, I felt like sex was new with him. For the first time I started taking ownership over it. I was a girl on the brink of womanhood. It was playful and thrilling. Every night after having it, we’d wrap our arms and legs around each other, talk, laugh and eventually fall asleep. The next morning we’d wake up still intertwined.
Since my summer internship didn’t pay, I took a job as a cocktail waitress on the weekends to pay my rent. In addition to his construction job, Foxy played drums in a band. Because of these two things, our weekend nights out didn’t begin until two o’clock in the morning when we were both done working and didn’t end until the sun came up. We lived a fun, fast lifestyle, Foxy and I. I loved that summer. I loved, loved, loved that summer.